


Find Out What It Means To Me

by winged_mammal



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, and not a single deadnaming tag in the bunch golly gee wow, funny how nobody else has a piped canonical character tag, guess nobody else on the show was ever called another name by a loved one, look at all those character tags, thinly veiled morality tales
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 14:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7760881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winged_mammal/pseuds/winged_mammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ways Team Machine is totally awesome at respecting Root's chosen name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Find Out What It Means To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the sole reason this exists is because I'm still thoroughly annoyed that the tag wrangling committee [considers the discussion about the "Root|Samantha Groves" canonical tag closed](http://winged-mammal.tumblr.com/post/148672790182/roots-canonical-tag-on-ao3) despite it being a terrible forced deadnaming situation that actively harms trans/nonbinary/genderqueer fans and [doesn't even make sense given the Archive's canonical tag guidelines anyway.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6789268)
> 
> Hey, did you guys know you can [tweet the official AO3 tag wranglers twitter account](https://twitter.com/ao3_wranglers) and [contact AO3 support about issues](http://archiveofourown.org/support)? Interesting, right? Did you also know that they're all volunteers and deserve all our respect and love and appreciation despite any disagreements we might have and I'll hate anybody's guts forever if I find out they didn't give them those things? Fascinating, I know! And did you also know that while the canonical tag hasn't been changed back yet, you can still totally use the non-deadnaming forms of the tags like I did above and your works will still show up in the main character/ship tags and be filterable? Awesomesauce!
> 
> Title from Aretha Franklin's "Respect," because of course it is. Everyone's alive and Samaritan doesn't exist, because I say so.

"Looks like Martin is heading into that salon across the street."

John looks up from his sandwich, knees nearly to his chest in the driver's seat of the compact car Root had directed him to steal two days ago as they tailed their latest number. He struggles around his large bite, nodding toward Root. "You got a hairdresser in that stash of yours?"

"Two, actually," Root says, leaning forward to open the glove box. She rifles through the accordion-shaped file, full of alphabetized drivers licenses, until her fingers catch on one and she hums in satisfaction. She grins at John as she removes the card and closes the compartment. "Kate Jemison.” The seat creaks as she leans in and futzes with his hair. “I'd be happy to fix this for you, sir. I know how dangerous lawn equipment can be."

He squints at her concerned tone. "If I wake up bald one day, Shaw won't be able to save you."

"I work miracles, I promise."

Their number has stopped outside the salon, looking agitated as he yells on his cell phone. John jerks his head in his direction, watching as Root sorts through her purse and somehow finds a pair of hair shears. He inches closer to the door. "You're up, Root."

Root shoves everything back in her purse and pauses when she picks up the fake license. "You know, I could count the number of people I've ever spoken to in person who've actually known my name on two hands." Her voice has gone oddly sincere, an emotion to it that John can’t quite place. The license gets tucked away, and she looks back at John with a small smile. "You're one of the few who actually use it."

John wishes he hadn't just taken another giant bite of his sandwich - the lettuce crunching in the quiet of the car is altogether too loud for him to figure out what to say to that. The abrupt sound of the zipper of Root's purse breaks the silence, and he swallows and shrugs. "Clandestine operative code of honor."

"Respect the game, respect the name?"

"Something like that."

Root's face breaks out into her usual conspiratorial grin, her hand reaching out for the door handle. "I knew you cared," she says as she steps out of the car. She ducks down and pokes her head back in. "I'll be sure to steal some hair dye just for you."

* * *

A huff of air follows Lionel as he collapses onto Root’s park bench, his lungs gasping for breath and sweat dripping off his brow. Root scoots away and offers him a tissue. "Shaw's just gonna come back and make you do more laps if you sit here."

"She can try," he pants, wiping his neck and gulping down half of his bottle of water. "We'd just end up making a scene and I don't think Glasses would appreciate us scaring off Mrs. Davenport."

Root looks across the track to Shaw, running laps around the park with Bear to keep an eye out for whoever is planning to kill their number while she's reading under a tree in the middle of the field. As Shaw's route draws her nearer to their bench Root holds out a bottle of water, but Shaw waves it away and taps at her wrist and points at Lionel in turn. Root grins and watches her sprint away again, admiring the glimmer of sweat along her muscles in the bright sunlight.

"Shaw says you're on the clock, Lionel."

"Yeah yeah," he says, and he sounds marginally more human so Root doesn't feel too bad about pouring the rest of his water into a collapsible bowl for when Bear comes back. "Who the hell willingly takes the name Davenport when they get married, anyway? Just go all out and call yourselves Mr. and Mrs. Living Room Set, has a nice ring to it."

The Machine starts rambling name change statistics into her ear and Root smiles at Her presence. "Maybe it was important to her."

Lionel huffs. "She's too good for Mr. Sofa."

"Most women are." Across the field, Shaw rounds a curve and pauses, looking out past the entrance of the park. Root straightens and reaches behind her back for her gun, but Shaw looks her way and shakes her head, continuing on her path. Root's hand relaxes and she turns to Lionel, eyeing the exchange. "You know less than a tenth of a percent of people ever legally change their name for something other than marriage?"

He raises his eyebrow. "No kidding."

"Hard to believe that many parents are that good at picking names."

"Most of 'em suck at it, in my experience." Lionel tugs at his shirt, wafting cool air against the sweat gathered at his back, and when Root makes a face at the action he makes a face right back. "They just don't suck bad enough for most people to bother, I guess."

Root hums. "I don't understand why people don't care more about such a big part of their identity."

"That you or your robot friend talking?" Root just looks at him. Lionel stares back for a moment, then shakes his head and turns away. "Right." Shaw approaches again and pointedly holds up a finger at him, indicating his break is almost over. He gestures indignantly at Root and Shaw seems to laugh at him as she passes, amused at the notion of Root running laps. Lionel huffs at the special treatment. "So when're you taking _her_ name, then?"

"Don't be silly, Lionel," Root condescends. "Then we'd have two Sam Shaws running around shooting people."

"We'd have one Sam Shaw and one Root Shaw." He looks over at Root and cocks an eyebrow. "I know your name, Nutter Butter. Your missus would kick my ass if I didn't use it."

Root smiles adoringly at Shaw where she's stopped in the path to wrestle a stolen tennis ball from Bear's mouth. "That’s my girl."

"Think she'd go for being called Sameen Root?"

"Would that make me Root Root?"

"That'd make you dead," Shaw's voice comes over the comms, sounding not at all out of breath. Root watches as she turns toward them and throws the ball as hard as she can in their direction, Bear bounding toward them after it.

Root waves at her and Shaw rolls her eyes before continuing along the track. "But still yours, sweetie."

* * *

"So, Zoe. John tells me you're the one who figured out Caroline Turing didn’t really exist."

The din of the bar picks up slightly as some sports team does something apparently amazing, and Root tucks in closer to Shaw in their booth, her right ear out toward the rest of the bar. Shaw engages Joss in a battle for the last jalapeno popper on their appetizer platter, but it’s short lived and Root's fairly certain she lets Joss win. Root puts her chin on her hand and leans in toward Zoe, sitting diagonally across from her, and shares a knowing look with Joss about the jalapeno popper.

Somehow it's the first time the four of them have ever been out for drinks together. Root thinks this must be what gay heaven is like.

"Don't forget about the time I meddled in your first little encounter with the boys," Zoe says, glass twinkling as she toasts herself in the air before taking a small sip of the whiskey she's sharing with Shaw.

Shaw snickers beside her and Root tips her head in acknowledgment. "Nobody's ever gone two for two against me," she says, smirking when Shaw scowls at that. "I don't know whether I'm offended or in love."

"Offended, I hope," Zoe says with a glance at Shaw, who for her part merely shrugs and pours out another shot for each of them.

Root brandishes a fry in the air before Shaw snatches it from her and pops it into her mouth. "We know how to share," she says, and Joss snorts.

"Just not food," Shaw adds.

Root leans in over the platter of food like she’s sharing a secret, but completely fails to lower her voice at all. "Sometimes she lets me eat part of her steak." Shaw elbows her and Root just nudges closer.

Zoe schools her expression and clears her throat. "So what do I win for knowing you were Root before anybody else did?"

With a glance at Shaw, Root leans in again and winks at Zoe. "Anything you like."

"Do I even want to know what I get for tracking down who you really were, then?" Joss asks, breaking a chip in two before dipping it in the salsa. At Shaw’s eyebrow, she clarifies. "Or used to be. Guess Sam Groves is as buried out there as Hanna Frey is."

"I'll toast to that." Root raises her glass and the others follow suit, Joss and Shaw both draining the rest of their drinks. "And I never did thank you for finding Hanna, Detective. So you're certainly welcome to anything you like too."

"Pretty sure that'd just be another beer," Shaw says, waving at the bartender as Joss shakes her head at Root's suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Zoe pats Joss' shoulder. "Joss is terminally heterosexual."

"Nobody's perfect," Root sighs.

* * *

The sound of fingers tapping on twin keyboards echoes through the otherwise silent library, Root and Harold on opposite sides of the center table, working to finish a pair of scripts that will seek out the information they need from a corporation's servers. Bear lies between their feet, giving out the occasional grumble when Root shifts and disturbs his foot pillow. It's one of the more pleasant afternoons she's spent alone in Harold's company, if only for his apparent ease around her now.

She absently scrolls through her code, tapping her thumb on the spacebar as she considers her functions. Harold seems wholly unaware of anything other than himself and his screen, and he startles when she speaks. "Is Mr. Gorbachev too obvious a name for a firewall-breaking function?"

Harold's eyes only flick up briefly, but he seems amused and Root taps the down arrow away from the section of code, satisfied. "I considered naming mine after the Kool Aid man, but I don't believe he has a name."

"What did you call it?"

He shifts uncomfortably and there's a long pause before he answers. "Miley Cyrus," he says, resolutely looking only at his monitor.

"Harold," Root says, utterly delighted. "Have you been listening to John's top forty radio station again?" He purses his lips and Root bounces her feet, making Bear move out from under the table to his bed beside it. "I always knew you were the kind of programmer to leave snarky comments. Does line 13748 in Her code say 'for a good time, call this function?'"

"I think it's probably more along the lines of 'don't delete this section or this thing will kill us all and I don't quite know why.'"

"Well that's fun too." Her eyes turn back to her screen and she taps out a few lines of code, eyeing Harold speculatively as she closes a recursive loop. "What did you call your first program?"

"It's been so long now, Miss Groves, I couldn't possibly try to remember," he answers absently, brow furrowed as he apparently puzzles over a troublesome piece of code.

Root stills.

Bear raises his head, noticing a change in the mood of the room.

It takes Harold a moment, but he notices the silence in the air and looks up. "Miss Groves?"

Root ignores him and tilts her head, fingers tapping against the table. "Hi there," she calls into the air, "Harry seems to have forgotten my name. Can you help us out?"

The Machine's voice calls out from the speakers on the center of the table. _"You have primarily gone by the name 'Root' for the past twenty-five years."_

"Huh." Bear whines at the noise, and Root turns to him. "How about you, boy, do you know my name?" She makes a 'speak' gesture, prompting Bear to let out a soft _woof_. "Close enough."

Bear nudges Root's hand as she stands and she pats his head, smiling at him before staring at Harold. Slowly she shrugs off her jacket, revealing a sticker on her shirt proclaiming

Hello, My Name Is:

ROOT

Harold watches as she drapes her jacket over the back of her chair and settles back down. He licks his lips and starts to speak, hesitating a moment when she glances up from her monitor and raises an eyebrow at him.

"You know, you're right," he says. "I'm sorry. ...Root."

Root smiles and nods. "Glad to hear it, Harold."

* * *

Fabric rustles and Shaw grunts in displeasure as Root kicks the tangled sheet away from her feet and to the floor, sprawling in an attempt to cool off despite Shaw's presence collapsed on top of her chest. Sweat sticks to the skin pressed between them and Shaw's hair tickles at Root's chin and the room is so hot she can't even bring herself to wrap an arm around Shaw's shoulders. Her hands stretch out on either side of the bed, boneless and desperate for cool air, and Shaw doesn't seem to be faring any better.

Shaw's hand grapples for purchase on Root's hip and the sensation of her still-slick fingers against her skin makes Root's lips twitch into a smile that quickly becomes a grimace when Shaw manages to push herself off and their sticky skin pulling away from each other makes a thoroughly unsexy squelching sound.

"I'm gonna," Shaw starts, pausing until she properly catches her breath. "I'm gonna get some water before we go again." Root smiles lazily as she watches Shaw roll out of bed and catch herself on the nightstand, picking up the empty glass sitting there and circling around to Root's side. "You want some?"

Shaw has already taken Root's glass before she can answer. Root closes her eyes and listens to Shaw fill the glasses in the bathroom sink, letting the last of the waves of pleasure roll through her limbs. A thunk on the tabletop next to her startles her out of her reverie and she sees Shaw making her way back to bed, pointing at the full glass of water beside her.

"Drink up, Root," she says, already halfway through her own glass and Root doesn't know of anyone else who can make proper hydration so arousing.

Root blinks up at Shaw, still hovering next to the bed. "I love the way you say my name." She props herself on her elbow as she half sits up, just enough to not spill water all over everything.

"Root." The eyeroll is evident in Shaw's voice, even if Root can't see it. She feels the bed dip as Shaw climbs back in, settling on her back and staring at the ceiling.

"That's the good stuff," Root nods, to both Shaw and the glass. She sets the latter back on the table and rolls onto her other side, facing Shaw. "You say it so deliberately. Root. Rooooot." She reaches out and places a finger on Shaw's bottom lip, miming speech. "Roo- _t_."

Shaw blows at her finger as though that would shoo her away, and when that fails she turns her head toward Root. "You're orgasm delirious."

"Probably," Root concedes.

"Drink the rest of your water, Root."

Root's smile widens and she completely ignores her instruction. "See? Roo- _t_. It's like you care about saying it."

"I care about your skinny ass not giving out on me while we're in the middle of something fun," Shaw counters, and points at the glass behind Root with a raised brow.

Root huffs and rolls over to finish the drink, scooting closer to Shaw's side when she's done. Her fingertips reach out and trace lines over Shaw's chest, drawing patterns between fresh bite marks and old bruises. "I don't think I've ever even heard the words 'Samantha Groves' come out of your mouth."

The skin beneath her lips twitches when Root leans in to kiss Shaw's stomach. Shaw arches her back slightly, getting more comfortable under Root's weight. "Probably because I don't know anyone by that name."

"It's the one I was born with," Root points out. Shaw's annoyed rumble reverberates along her torso and Root dances her fingers along her ribs.

"Doesn't make it your name."

Root presses a silently grateful kiss to Shaw's sternum, Shaw allowing the contact for longer than Root would expect. Then she blinks it away and adopts a smile, glancing up at Shaw as she trails down the length of her body. Shaw's hips shift as she makes room for Root to settle between her legs, and she lets out a laugh to herself just as Root's fingers draw closer.

At Root's questioning expression, she explains. "'Sam Groves' sounds like the porn name you got from combining the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on."

Root grins. "You don't know how right you are, Sameen."

* * *

"Jessica Robinson, twenty-nine, freelance writer for various magazines," Finch announces to the room as he tapes a photograph to the glass board by the window. "Our new number."

Root doesn't look up from her laptop, one hand on the keyboard and the other cradling a takeout container. Shaw sits across from her at the table and mimes spilling food on the computer; Root just stuffs another piece of chicken in her mouth and points her chopsticks at the stack of spare hardware against the far wall.

"Anything out of the ordinary, Finch?" John dutifully puts his food away, giving Harold his full attention, and Root and Shaw share a smirk.

"Nothing much, although she does live in a somewhat unsavory part of town. She may well have seen something she shouldn't have."

John reaches for his phone and gun on the table. "I'll head out to her apartment, see what I can find."

"I thought we agreed you weren't going to break into any more women's apartments," Shaw says, looking thoroughly amused. "Isn't Fusco getting tired of booking you for being a peeping Tom?"

"I think Shaw and I can handle this one." Root shuts her laptop and stands, glancing toward the board. She pauses and turns to Harold. "What's this number's name?"

Harold looks between her and the board. "Jessica Robinson."

"Then what's that?"

Root points to the top of the board, where Harold has written "Jessica Robinson | Emily Plantain" in large letters across half its length.

"Miss Robinson emancipated herself when she was sixteen, at which point she legally changed her name to her current one."

"Uh-oh, Finch," says Shaw, as John moves to search Harold's desk for something.

"She changed her name at sixteen? Does she even have any legal documents under the old name?" Root asks, and when Harold shakes his head she squints at him. "So why do you have both of them up there?"

"Well, she did use that name for certain parts of her life, there are a few people from her hometown who probably still know her exclusively by that name, and I thought it best to include the broadest possible identification... for..." Harold trails off as John finds an eraser buried on Finch's desk and tosses it to Root, who steps closer to the board. She stares at him, impassive, as her arm reaches out and presses the eraser against the end of the name 'Emily Plantain' and draws it firmly along the board, trusting the Machine to tell her when to stop.

When the name is gone, Root tosses the eraser back to John without looking. "No."

"You're right," Harold says after a long pause. Root looks satisfied, and Harold scratches something out on his notepad. "Apologies."


End file.
